


Double Trouble

by dancingloki



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, BDSM, M/M, Multi, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-cest, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingloki/pseuds/dancingloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his past self inexplicably appears in the present day, Steve sees it as an opportunity to do some good for Bucky--who's been having a hard time accepting love or affection since his escape from Hydra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/73019) by hill-hill-hill on tumblr. 



“But how did he _get here?!_ ”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Tony, and wailing about it is really not helping,” Jane snapped. She turned to the scrawny figure standing awkwardly in the center of the room. “Okay. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Private Steven G. Rogers twisted his soft Army cap in his hands and shrugged nervously. “Well, I woke up early this morning. Got dressed. I was waiting in the barracks tent for Agent Carter to come pick me up for the procedure, and then…I don’t know, ma’am. There was some kind of funny white light, that seemed to come from everywhere, and I felt—tight. Like something huge had hold of me and was _squeezing_ , but without any pain. And then…I was here.”

‘Here’ was actually the main R&D lab in Stark Tower, where Natasha had been inspecting the improvements Tony had come up with for her Widow’s Bites. Steve—the post-serum, post-deep-freeze version—had been roped into helping her, and the three of them had been focused on Tony’s lab bench when a sudden flash of white light left them blinking. Their vision cleared, only to reveal mini-Steve, looking nauseous and terrified, but braced for a fight.

After the initial chaos, the intruder was hustled over to Bruce’s domain, in the experimental physics lab, and Thor had been dispatched to fetch the world’s foremost expert on temporal-spatial anomalies. She and Bruce were now six hours into every test and scan they could think of for trace radiation and quantum disturbances on both tiny, past Steve, and the room where he’d popped up. So far, they were drawing a blank.

“I mean, it _sounds_ like an Einstein-Rosen, similar to what the Asgardians use for their teleportation,” Bruce said, pulling off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The photonic release both they and he observed matches.”

“Yeah, but there wasn’t any energy scoring or discoloration around the point of apparition,” Jane said distractedly. She fiddled with the settings on one of her hand-made sensory devices and waved it over skinny-Steve’s torso. She scowled and slapped the side with the palm of her hand, swore, and threw it down on the table, returning to her computer simulation.

“There has to be some kind of—of marker, that would leave some kind of energy residue!” she cried, throwing up her hands in frustration. “How did it isolate him for transportation? How could it target him so accurately in the timestream? Out of all the people in time and space, taking _Captain America_ and grabbing him on the very morning he was supposed to _become_ Captain America, and then taking him through time into the exact same room where modern-day Captain America is standing, that _can’t_ be a coincidence.”

“What about…” Jane bent over Bruce’s calculations, and they fell into muttered conversation.

“Well, while they’re busy with that,” Clint said cheerfully after a moment, “I think we plebs should work on solving this problem.” From where he was perched on the back of an armchair, he waved a lazy hand between the two Steves.

Giant, post-serum Steve had barely said two words together in the past few hours. He seemed to have exhausted himself taking charge when his miniature doppelganger had showed up, soothing the little man’s fears and explaining the situation. His past self had had so many questions he could barely get them out; big-Steve had updated him on where he was, and the past seventy years, in what sounded like rapid-fire gibberish to the others, but seemed to make perfect sense to the tiny, angry newcomer.

Now, he’d perched his huge frame on a folding chair on the far side of the room, staring at himself. The badly-fitting dress uniform past-Steve wore hung strangely on his bony figure. Even the smallest size the quartermaster could find had still been large enough that he was swimming in fabric, and he hadn’t had the time or the leisure in basic training to have them properly taken in.

Natasha, stretched out on the couch, feet up on the armrest and dark sunglasses over her eyes, was the one to respond. “And what problem would that be?”

“How are we gonna tell them apart?” he demanded.

Natasha flicked her sunglasses down on her nose and stared at him over the top. When her glare failed to enlighten Clint as to how absurd his question was, she elaborated, “Well, only one of them is roughly the size of a pickup truck, so that should probably help.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “But what are we going to _call_ them? They’ve got the same name, you can’t just go ‘hey Steve!’ and magically expect the right one to answer.”

“He’s got a point,” Tony chimed in. Natasha groaned and settled her sunglasses back over her eyes.

“Big Steve and Little Steve,” Clint suggested.

“No,” Big Steve said flatly.

“Old Steve and New Steve,” Tony proposed.

“Absolutely not,” Old Steve scowled.

“Classic Steve and Steve 2.0?” Clint grinned.

“ _No_ ,” both Steves chorused.

“Jumbo and Fun Size,” Tony sniggered.

“Just you try it, Stark,” Jumbo Steve warned. He forestalled any future suggestions by standing abruptly, striding across the room. He skirted uneasily around his past self, interrupting Bruce and Jane’s conversation. “Why don’t I remember?”

“Hmm?” Jane looked up. “Sorry, Steve, what was that?”

“Why don’t I remember?” he repeated. “If he’s me from the past, then this has already happened to me, right? I feel like I would remember being thrown into the future with a bunch of strangers and my future self.”

“That’s a good point, Cap,” Bruce mused. Across the room, Clint and Tony stared at each other in sudden delight, chorusing ‘ _Cap!_ ’. “What _do_ you remember about that day?”

“Well…” Cap thought for a moment. “The morning? Not very much. Like he said, it was a normal morning. Got up, got dressed, Peggy came to get me and took me to the procedure room. I remember feeling a little bit sick and dizzy, but I figured that was just nerves—and hunger, I guess. I wasn’t supposed to eat for twelve hours beforehand.”

“I guess the most probable explanation is returning you—him—to his own place in the timestream was more traumatic than the trip here,” Jane shrugged. “Whatever solution we’re going to find to get him home must have erased your memory on the way back.”

“You really think you can get me home?” Steve asked, coming up to join them.

“We must have,” Jane said, smiling. “Or must will have, I guess. Past future tenses are tricky. My point is, our Steve is here, so—assuming that the timestream is fixed, which is supported by our current understanding of theoretical relativistic physics—it’s inevitable that you will eventually return back in time. Maybe a few days older, but not enough to be noticeable. I mean, unless the multiverse theory is true, and you’re from an alternate universe that doesn’t get a Captain America.” She laughed awkwardly, and stopped when she realized nobody was joining in.

Cap and Steve were wearing identical thoughtful frowns. “What would a world like that even look like?” Cap asked.

“Um, probably it would have been conquered by the Red Skull and have been under Hydra’s rule for the past seventy years,” she said quickly. “But you don’t have to worry about it, because we’re gonna get him home. No problem.” She patted both Steves’ shoulders reassuringly.

“Listen, I don’t think we need anything else from you right now,” she told Steve. “Why don’t you two go take a load off? I’m sure you’ve got a ton to talk about.”

“All right, ma’am, if you’re sure,” Steve said uncertainly. “You won’t need me on hand, for more tests and things?”

Jane and Bruce traded glances, then both shook their heads. “Honestly, we’ll probably get more done with you two out of the way,” Bruce said kindly.

Steve nodded and headed out into the hallway. Cap followed him, waiting until the door was completely shut and they were out of earshot of the others before catching at his elbow.

“Hey, um, listen.”

Steve turned around at the sound of Cap’s voice. It was so surreal, seeing the familiar lines of his own face in that massive figure. Cap was blushing a little and avoiding his gaze.

“Can I ask you a favor? I’d say it’s a pretty big one, and more than a little insane, especially coming out of the blue like this. If I didn’t know myself well enough that I’m sure I—you—won’t think it’s too much to ask, I wouldn’t. And we should have plenty of time right now, if you’re up for it. Who knows how long it’s going to take them to start making progress on getting you home.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Is it about Bucky?”

Cap huffed a short laugh. “Yep. Walk with me?”

They made an odd pair as they proceeded down the hallway, heading for Cap’s rooms. Cap unconsciously shortened his stride so the smaller man could keep up without trotting.

“Well, it’s like this,” he explained as they walked. “You know how it is, with Hydra and him being brainwashed. Ever since he came back, he’s had a lot of trouble adjusting.”

“Naturally,” Steve interjected.

“Naturally,” Cap agreed. “He’s been through a lot. But mostly he’s having problems with—with guilt. He feels guilty. About the stuff they made him do.”

“But that wasn’t his fault!”

“Of course not, but…well, he _knows_ it’s not his fault, but he doesn’t _believe_ it.”

Cap glanced down at Steve’s face. His lips were pursed and brow furrowed as he mulled over what Cap was telling him.

“It’s like with my mom,” Cap said quietly. “Our mom.”

They paused, turning face to face, their eyes meeting in perfect understanding as each one remembered how tired their mother had been, in the time before she got sick. How worn-out she’d been left by years of caring for an invalid son, working double-shifts to pay for the medical treatments that kept him alive.

Steve nodded gravely, and they continued down the hall.

“Anyway,” Cap said after a moment, “I bring it up because, even though we’ve been together for…gosh, almost six months now, Buck’s got a real hard time letting me love him.”

“You _have_ to love him,” Steve interjected. “He needs it.”

“I _know_ he does, but he won’t let me,” Cap said impatiently.

“Won’t _let_ you? What does that even mean?”

“I mean he won’t let me be good to him. He won’t let me—he wants me to, he wants me to love him and be gentle with him and take care of him, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, so he won’t _let_ me.”

“Then what the hell are you—”

“Would you just let me finish? _Thank_ you.” He fell silent anyway, though, working his jaw in frustration.

“Am I always this annoying?” he blurted out after a moment. Steve burst out laughing.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he admitted. Cap’s face softened, and he went on.

“So, we talked about it, on one of his good days, and we came up with…with a sort of arrangement.”

“The kind where you don’t let him say no?”

“Exactly.” They’d reached the outer door of the suite Cap shared with Bucky. Cap shoved his hands into his jean pockets and leaned against the wall. “It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk about what he wanted and needed, but in the end we worked out a pretty good system. It’s been helping, too. He’s—he seems calmer. He was constantly on edge, at first, always on his guard, but…I really think it’s helping him.”

Steve nodded. “And where do I come in?”

Cap pulled a face, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s kind of…well, _tricky_ , sometimes. I mean the actual logistics. He can’t stand restraints; it scares the shit out of him to be tied up or strapped down. So I have to restrain him physically, and take care of him at the same time, and he _fights_ it, believe me. And I’m pretty strong, but then so is he, and…it gets tricky,” he trailed off, staring at Steve helplessly.

“So you figure, you hold him down, and I take care of him?”

Cap made a half-hearted shrug and nodded feebly. “If you’re, y’know, comfortable with the idea. I figured, just, ‘cause I know how you—I mean, I remember. How I felt, about Bucky, when I was you.” He shoved his free hand roughly back into his pocket, blush rising on his neck again as he stared at the ground, prodding it resentfully with his toe.

“Okay.” Cap looked up; Steve was meeting his gaze squarely, resolve in every inch of his thin face. “I’ll do it. I want to.”

“Thank you.” Cap’s face was serious, his voice earnest.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Steve returned, equally sincere. “It’s for him, right?”

Cap laughed softly and nodded. “So…is now okay?”

“He doesn’t need any warning?”

“It’s actually better when it’s spontaneous. I tried that at first, telling him ahead of time, but he’d get all worked up about it. The anticipation, y’know? One time it got so bad, I had to stop in the middle of things. He had a full-blown panic attack. At least that’s what they told me it was, after. We had another talk about it after that. I stopped warning him, and we haven’t had any problems since.”

Steve frowned, absorbing the information. “And he knows I’m here? He’s not going to have some sort of episode, seeing two of us there at one time?”

Cap shook his head. “I came up and explained the situation to him right after you got here. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good. Let’s do it, then.”

Cap opened the door carefully, leading the way into their living room. Bucky was sitting at a table over by the wall, scowling at the paper in front of him and gnawing on the tip of his pen. He looked up as they entered and his eyes went wide, darting between the two Steves.

Bucky got to his feet as Cap advanced into the room; Steve hung back by the door, watching.

“Hey, Bucky. Do you have some free time right now?”

The way Cap said the phrase—over-enunciating each word—made it obvious to Steve that it was a pre-arranged code, a signal to Bucky of Cap’s intentions. Bucky inclined his head in a slight nod, eyes now fixed on Cap’s face, but still flicking over to Steve’s and back.

Something in Cap’s posture change subtly. He stood a little straighter, brought his shoulders back. Somehow, his presence in the room became more commanding, more dominant.

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered, voice calm. Bucky shrank back against the wall, shaking his head ‘no’. But even as he refused, something in his body softened, some tension ebbed away. Even if Cap hadn’t explained the situation to him, Steve thought, he would have been able to see that Bucky’s reluctance was only for show.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Bucky,” Cap said firmly. His voice was still gentle, but there was a hint of steel there that warned against further resistance. “Either you take it off, or I’ll do it for you.”

Bucky didn’t move to remove his t-shirt, but he relaxed his shoulders, letting his arms hang loose by his side. He didn’t struggle as Cap came up to him and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head and down clear of his arms in one smooth motion.

He still balked, however, when Cap tried to pull him forward, away from the wall. Steve instinctively ran a few steps forward when they started to struggle, but caught himself and stopped in the middle of the room. Cap obviously had the upper hand. Bucky was clearly resisting, but just as clearly had no intention of actually escaping.

After a few minutes of grappling, Cap had Bucky almost completely immobilized. His arms were wound under Bucky’s armpits, holding him flush against Cap’s chest, while his hands locked behind Bucky’s neck, restricting the movement of his head and upper body. Bucky thrashed around for a moment, kicking back at Cap’s shins, before he went still, chest heaving.

First throwing a questioning glance at Cap, who nodded in return, Steve cautiously approached. He stretched out his hand, trailing just the tips of his fingers down Bucky’s bare chest. Bucky’s sharp intake of breath when Steve first made contact sent a thrill down his spine. He stood back a little bit, surveying Bucky’s body from head to toe.

The Bucky Steve knew usually dressed to impress; fancy suits, the latest fashions. Even his uniform, after he’d enlisted, was always sharp, pressed to within an inch of its life. The man in front of him cut a sharp contrast; he seemed clothed purely for utility. The hems of his black cargo pants were tucked into the top of bulky leather boots, probably steel-toed. Bucky’s right arm was hanging limp, propped up at an awkward angle by Cap’s bicep, but his left hand—the metal one—was locked around Cap’s left wrist, just behind Bucky’s ear. Not pulling on his arm or trying to dislodge Cap’s grip; just clinging there.

Looking up, Steve realized Bucky’s eyes were locked onto his face, watching his every move. The hunger in Bucky’s expression made him suddenly self-conscious. He stepped back nervously, stripping off his uniform coat as a way to stall. Laying the coat on the back of Bucky’s chair, Steve carefully rolled up his shirtsleeves, one after the other, conscious of Bucky closely following the movement of his hands.

“Hold him still,” he instructed Cap, who nodded, tightening his grip. Steve was pleased that his voice came out steady and confident, not betraying the knot in his stomach.

Bucky’s face was contorted, twisted into a fearful sneer. He watched Steve’s approach under slitted, half-closed lids. Steve moved slowly, not wanting to startle or spook him. But at the first proper touch, Steve pressing his delicate hand flat against Bucky’s stomach, Bucky’s face smoothed out, his eyes fluttering closed. A little groan escaped his slack lips as Steve moved in closer, bringing up his other hand to stroke and caress Bucky’s stomach and sides.

Without bothering to get Cap’s approval, he leaned forward, pressing his soft lips to the center of Bucky’s chest. He was rewarded with a little whimper, and Bucky melted back into Cap’s hold. Steve dropped another gentle kiss, and another, working his way down Bucky’s chest to his stomach.

He went down on one knee when crouching started to strain his back. Cap was relaxing his hold on Bucky, who made no move to take advantage of his new freedom. He just sagged back against Cap’s chest, letting his arms hang loose by his side when Cap released them. Cap rearranged his grip to wrap his arms around the outside of Bucky’s shoulders, pinioning his upper arms to his sides.

Bucky whimpered louder when Steve held the kiss on his stomach, even swiping his tongue over the sensitive skin. His hands clenched reflexively, and Steve caught hold of them, gripping the metal hand gently, and guiding the other to the back of his head. Bucky cradled the back of Steve’s head with surprising tenderness, burying his thumb in the wispy strands of Steve’s hair.

Steve reached for Bucky’s belt with his free hand, deftly undoing the buckle and tugging the button loose as he trailed his lips a little lower. Bucky was panting out loud, making helpless little sounds as he craned his neck backwards to press against Cap’s steady shoulder. Cap was murmuring into Bucky’s ear, too low for Steve to hear; he glanced up in time to see Cap tenderly kissing along Bucky’s jaw to the corner of his mouth.

Satisfied, he returned his attention to the task at hand. He carefully guided Bucky’s metal hand to join the other at the back of his head, then worked open Bucky’s zipper, working the front of his pants as wide open as he could. Settling down on both knees, he felt around the front of Bucky’s briefs until he found the opening. Steve ignored Bucky’s mewling cries, wrapping his thin fingers around Bucky’s cock where it nestled between his legs.

With a sharp cry, Bucky jerked back, taking both Steve and Cap by surprise. Steve fell back onto his ass as Cap tightened his grip, pinning Bucky’s arms tighter against his torso.

“Hey, now,” Cap murmured soothingly as he wrestled Bucky back into submission. “Come on, hold still. Knock it off, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes were open again, but with a glazed, unfocused look, and his mouth hung open as he panted, thrashing feebly against Cap’s arms. Cap adjusted his grip, bracing himself against another escape attempt, then nodded for Steve to continue when he was satisfied. Steve nodded back, and shuffled forward on his knees. He glanced upwards, only to see Bucky’s desperate stare riveted on his face.

He held the gaze, staring straight into Bucky’s eyes as he slipped his hand back into the front of his pants. Bucky’s eyes slammed back shut as Steve’s slender hand found his cock again, stroking him gently inside his briefs.

Steve slowly worked Bucky’s cock forward, maneuvering it carefully free of his pants until it was almost completely exposed. He licked his lips nervously as he considered his next move. He’d certainly fantasized about doing this plenty of times, but he’d never had occasion to try it out before now.

He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head. Bucky jerked his hips backwards, whipping the tip of his cock out of Steve’s mouth, and started struggling again, trying to wriggle free of Cap’s hold. His arms were bent back upwards, both hands fastened around Cap’s wrists, trying vainly to pull his grip loose. After a few fruitless moments, he went limp again, letting his head loll back on Cap’s shoulder. Steve waited a few seconds more, to be sure Bucky was really back under control, before leaning back in.

Bucky was fully erect, drops of precome beading on the tip of his cock. Steve wrapped his fingers around the base, holding him firmly while he took the head back into his mouth and sucked gently.

Over the sound of Bucky’s low moan, he could hear Cap murmuring soothingly into Bucky’s ear. Steve heard the words “so good” and “our boy” surface repeatedly, and at least once “deserve it” drifted into the audible range.

Steve closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Bucky’s cock, hot and thick on his tongue. He twisted his hand experimentally as he sucked, pleased to hear Bucky’s moan rise half an octave in tone. On an impulse, he pressed forward, trying to take Bucky’s cock deeper into his throat; but the gagging and spluttering—and the minute-long coughing fit that followed, while Cap kept Bucky on lockdown and fussed at him—convinced him not to try again.

He contented himself with the tip, curling his tongue around the head and working the shaft with his hand. Bucky started to fight weakly again when he got close to coming, but it wasn’t enough to shake Steve off.

The angle made Bucky’s come hit Steve square on his tongue. The bitter, salty taste was decidedly unpleasant, and he spat the mouthful on the floor without thinking, swallowing several times to get rid of the remnant coating his tongue.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he looked up to see Bucky collapsed back into Cap’s arms. Cap seemed to be supporting his entire weight, one arm braced under his back, the other gripping the fabric of his pants. Bucky had twisted sideways, and was pressing his face up into the crook of Cap’s neck. He was mumbling nonsensically; “Steve, Steve, please,” was all Steve could make out.

“It’s okay, I got you, you’re okay,” Cap was saying, dropping one shoulder to sweep Bucky up into a bridal-style carry. “Can you get the door?”

Steve held the door open and followed them into the bedroom, hovering uselessly by the door as Cap carefully laid Bucky out on the bed.

“I know, I know,” Cap murmured, spreading a soothing hand over Bucky’s chest. “I’m right here. You’re fine. Just sleep. Will you help me get his pants off?”

“Oh—yeah, of course,” Steve stammered, nearly tripping over his own feet on the way to the bed. He deftly untied Bucky’s laces, yanking off one heavy boot after the other. Together, he and Cap worked Bucky’s pants off, and tucked him securely under the covers.

Steve held Bucky’s right hand in both of his while Cap stroked his hair, dropping soft kisses onto his forehead and cheeks until he was deep asleep. Then they tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

“That actually wasn’t too hard,” Steve murmured, voice barely audible.

“Yeah, that was an easy one,” Cap laughed, agreeing. “You don’t have to whisper, by the way. Once he’s asleep he could sleep through a hurricane. Seriously though, he’s never been that well-behaved before. One time he actually kicked off the wall, I thought I was gonna break my arm when I hit the floor—with him on top of me, of course.” He grinned at Steve and bent down to pick up Bucky’s t-shirt, wiping up the come from the floor with it and tossing it at the bedroom door, nose wrinkled.

“You think it was because of me?” Steve ventured.

“No doubt in my mind. Honestly, I think he was afraid of accidentally hurting you if he fought too much.”

Steve nodded solemnly, picking up his coat from the chair and twisting it in his hands. “Does he always pass out like that?” he waved one hand vaguely towards the bedroom.

“Pretty much. I mean, it’s an intense experience for him. And we don’t do it that often. He’ll sleep for about twelve hours and be fine when he wakes up.”

“Okay, good.” Steve looked back towards the bedroom. “Have you ever, y’know?” He made an obscene gesture with his hand.

“Fondued?” Cap teased. “Yeah, now and then, when he’s not being too difficult.”

“Fon—what? What does that mean?”

“Fondue, y’know, like Howard said that one time when—dammit, right, that hasn’t happened for you yet.”

“Who’s Howard?” Steve asked uncertainly. Cap shook his head.

“He’s a scientist, you’ll meet him later—in just a few hours, I guess, in your time.”

“O…kay.” Steve made his way over to the sofa, and collapsed on it. Cap followed him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Did we do the right thing?”

Cap paused for a long moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Did it—will it all work out? Do things work out? For us, for the world? I don’t know, it just—looking around here, listening to the rest of them talk, and what happened with Bucky…it seems like—like it all went wrong, somehow.”

When another long stretch went by without an answer, Steve asked one more time.

“Was it worth it?”

Cap looked down at his hands, resting in his lap. Then he looked up at Steve, and smiled.

“I don’t know.”


End file.
